


Bright Stars

by KChan88



Series: Sailing By Orion's Star: Deleted Scenes [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 10:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7681639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KChan88/pseuds/KChan88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Amis celebrate on the deck of the Liberte after they capture their first prize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright Stars

**The Western Atlantic Ocean near Nassau. 1715.**

Enjolras is writing in the ship’s log when a voice punctures the silence of the captain’s cabin, merriment threaded throughout.

“The stars are shining bright tonight my dear captain!” Courfeyrac exclaims, and Enjolras looks up, seeing Joly at Courfeyrac’s elbow, a half-empty bottle of wine in his hand.

“I’m glad this pleases you?” Enjolras says, voice going a bit higher at the end of the statement, a question in his voice.

“And don’t worry, we’ve watered down the wine a bit,” Joly says, holding up the bottle in Enjolras’ direction. “Though I do feel that tonight at least, we might be obliged to break our own rules.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras says, bewildered. “Am I missing something?”

“Did you not hear the carousing above?” Courfeyrac asks.

“No,” Enjolras says. “I was busy writing down the events of today in the log.”

“Of course you were,” Courfeyrac says, rolling his eyes, fond. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where?” Enjolras asks, but doesn’t protest when Courfeyrac pulls him up out of the chair by the hand.

“Up on deck you silly man,” Courfeyrac replies. “We’re having a bit of a celebration.”

“A celebration?”

“My but you are full of questions,” Courfeyrac says, laughing, and the joy in the sound bounces back toward Enjolras, and he smiles, feeling it reach his eyes.

“For our first significant prize capture on our own!” Joly informs him, dark green eyes bright with amusement. “We’ve earned it, I say.”

“So we have,” Enjolras says, laughing a bit harder when Joly seizes him and plants a loud kiss on his cheek, feeling it push against his ribs and creating a pleasant ache.

“The Spanish really should learn not keep so much gold on one ship at a time,” Courfeyrac says as they walk out of the cabin toward the quarterdeck, and Enjolras hears the familiar strains of the musicians playing a jaunty tune on the violin. “You’d think they’d know better.”

“Enjolras!” Bahorel calls out, spreading his arms wide. “You’ve come to join us.”

“You’ve been drinking rum,” Enjolras says, crossing his arms in feigned anger, quirking one eyebrow.

“When you raise a single eyebrow like that it makes you look like Combeferre,” Bahorel points out, clapping him on the back. “But I confess that yes, I have been. Though Prouvaire broke the bottle open.”

“To take a single swig,” Prouvaire protests, though his hand plays about his lips as he fails at hiding a laugh.

“Going to chide us for skirting the liquor rules in the articles?” Bahorel asks, raising one eyebrow in imitation of Enjolras.

“It’s as Joly said,” Enjolras replies. “We might be obliged tonight, to break our own rules. Especially given we’re very nearly home.”

“Good man!” Bossuet exclaims, coming up behind Bahorel and throwing arm around his shoulders.

“You don’t really smell of rum,” Enjolras says, unable to stop grinning.

“I’ve had a bit but I am mostly just reveling in our success,” Bossuet answers. “And with barely a scratch among us. They surrendered the moment they realized the Avenging Angel was boarding the ship.”

“The _Avenging Angel_!” Gavroche echoes from behind them in a melodramatic voice, covering his face in mock terror. At sixteen, he’s grown taller than Bossuet, who elbows him in the side.

“Oh good lord,” Enjolras says, laughter splattering onto his words as he taps the edge of Gavroche’s hat.

After a moment Enjolras sits down between Combeferre and Feuilly, who push a plate of food into his hands, setting a glass of wine at his feet.

“Grantaire rather outdid himself with this,” Feuilly says, lifting up his plate, glee in his eyes as he watches Courfeyrac pull Prouvaire up from his seat on the deck, dancing along marvelously out of step with the violin music.

“Where is Grantaire?” Enjolras asks, eyes searching the crowd of sailors.

“Just there I think,” Combeferre says, pointing, a wry smile on his lips. Just as he does, Grantaire’s voice starts floating toward them on the sea breeze, singing along with the musicians’ tune.

_My name is Captain Kid, who has sailed, who has sailed,_

_My name is Captain Kid, who has sailed._

_My name is Captain Kid;_

_What the laws did still forbid_

_Unluckily I did while I sailed, while I sailed._

_Upon the ocean wide, when I sailed._

_Upon the ocean wide, when I sailed,_

_Upon the ocean wide_

_I robbed on every side_

_With most ambitious pride, when I sailed._

“Didn’t they write that after Captain Kidd’s death?” Feuilly asks. “After the rope broke the first time and they had to hang him twice?”

“They did indeed,” Combeferre says. “Then they left his body in the harbor for three years, I think. In chains.”

“Charming,” Feuilly says, dry. “Though Grantaire does make the tune sound lively.”

Enjolras watches the celebration for a few minutes, slowly eating his food and feeling a contented warmth spread to the tips of his fingers. He wraps his arms around his legs, resting his head on his knees when he’s finished eating, a particular happiness sitting in his chest and settling, making him feel light. They _were_ successful today.

After a moment Joly approaches, offering him a glass with a tiny helping of rum.

“Want to try, Enjolras?” he asks. “We’ve been saving it, and it’s quite good.”

“All right,” Enjolras says, accepting, finding it difficult to refuse Joly. “For the occasion.”

He takes the glass, knocking it back as he’s seen his friends do, but as he swallows the liquor, it burns. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, but holds back the cough building in his throat.

“All right, Rene?” Combeferre asks, patting him on the back.

“Quite,” Enjolras replies, voice coming out hoarse, but he smiles again as Joly tugs on the end of his hair before walking toward Grantaire and joining him in the final verse of the song.

Enjolras slips his arm through both Feuilly and Combeferre’s, both inching closer to him, his eyes scanning the stars. Thousands of them scatter the sky, lighting it up so brightly that they don’t even require the lanterns, a painting of tiny pinpricks that guide their way across the sea.

“Courfeyrac was right,” Enjolras muses. “The stars are bright tonight.”


End file.
